


only you - van mccann

by lovelyvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Catfish and The Bottlemen, F/M, Mini Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyvan/pseuds/lovelyvan
Summary: "I don’t really do relationships anymore. They never work, me being gone all the time. It’s too hard and we both end up hurt. Just doesn’t work,” he said softly.You nodded, pulling your lip in between your teeth. “Yeah, I understand,” you said, trying not to let your voice shake. “Yeah, it wouldn’t make a lot of sense, anyway. We both have a lot of stuff going on.”Van’s eyes scanned your face, knowing you were disappointed but not knowing how to fix it like he usually could. “I’m sorry."
Relationships: Ryan "Van" McCann/You, Van McCann/Reader
Kudos: 6





	only you - van mccann

_“Van.” ___

____

__

Your voice was soft when you answered the phone that night. You had just fallen asleep a few minutes prior to his call, your room pitch black still, the only sounds coming from the street below. 

“Sorry, I know it’s late, love. But I just got back. Are you home?” You closed your eyes, resting the phone against your ear, relishing in the way his voice rasped over the phone. You hadn’t heard it in a while. 

He didn’t even ask if you wanted him to come over. He knew you did. Not that it was a bad thing or out of the ordinary - whenever Van was home from touring or recording or whatever else it was that rock stars had to do, he gave you a call. 

You had met him at a bar one night a few years back, after one of his shows. At the time, you had no idea who he was or why he acted a little cocky when he first spoke to you, him expecting you to recognize him. But you liked the way he spoke, his laugh, the way he held his cigarettes. So you invited him back to your apartment for the night. You thought it would surely be a one time thing. Except it wasn’t. He took your phone number and within a few weeks called you up again, showing up at your front door with that sideways grin. 

It was a casual thing, strings free. Just what you both needed. Van was a man of the road, designed for singing in front of thousands of people and touring for months on end. He had no reason to be tied down, no time for it. And you were in your last year of University, focusing on finding a job in the real world, not even a thought of trying to find a proper boyfriend. 

So there was Van, someone you could call upon when you were upset or happy or just sexually frustrated. You saw other men occasionally and you knew he was with other girls while on tour but none of it really mattered. You had the perfect situation. Well, nearly perfect. You knew what you had with Van was sex and nothing more but the last few times you had seen him, you realized you were staring at him a little longer, hanging onto his words, almost sad to see him walk out the door. But you tried not to think about it. 

A short knock sounded on your door, three taps like always. You switched on your lamp and rose out of bed, not even bothering to put pants on as you walked to the front door. 

“Hi,” he said with a smile. 

“Hi, Van,” you said, letting him in. 

“How’ve you been?” he asked.

“Good, yeah. Been busy with school and everything. You?” You leaned against the door, watching as he shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it onto your couch, slipping off his old ratty boots.

“Pretty good, just back home for a bit, we have a break in the tour for the holidays then we’ll be back after New Years.”

He walked toward you and put his hands on the sides of your face, pressing his lips on yours, not wasting any time. You sighed into the kiss, your eyes fluttering shut. His touch was so familiar, his hands rough against your jaw, his tongue tasting like smoke and mint, the slight scratch of his stubble. His hands dropped to your hips, his fingers nearly burning your skin as he pushed your t-shirt up slightly. You tugged at his hair which was getting a little long but actually looked quite good on him. 

Van pulled away after a moment, his eyes dark. “Missed this,” he muttered before grabbing your hand and bringing you to your own room. You laid down on the bed, letting him crawl on top of you, hands going up your shirt right away, lips to your neck. You pulled your shirt off quickly, his necklace dragging across your skin as his mouth went to your breasts, leaving you only in your underwear. 

You bit your lip, watching as he pulled away and tugged off his own shirt, throwing it behind him. His movements were rapid and needy as he leaned into to kiss you again, his hand rubbing over your underwear. You reached for his belt, unbuckling it and you nearly laughed as he struggled to pull off his jeans, tight as usual.

Van knew your body better than anyone. Over the years, he learned what made you squirm and what could make you scream. He knew every line, every mark, every curve of you. 

You basked in the feeling of his tongue, fingers curving inside of you just like you liked. You tugged on his hair and moaned his name, knowing how much he loved to be praised. “Can’t wait anymore,” he mumbled against your skin, crawling up your body. You both watched as he pressed inside of you slowly, his head falling backwards, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck,” he muttered. 

It had been so long since you had seen him you had forgotten what it was like. Forgotten how he would lift one leg up over his shoulder, then both, his hands wrapped around your neck, sweat glistening on his chest. You would choke out his name, “ _Van, Van, Van._ ”

____

__

Van always tried to make you finish first, almost as if it was a game to him. Maybe it was. And it usually worked. The feeling of his thumb rubbing over you and him inside of you was enough and you came undone, shaking underneath him. “Fuck,” you let out, squeezing your eyes shut. Van slowed down for a second to let you recover and locked eyes with you, as if to ask a question. You nodded slightly, teeth pressing into your bottom lip as he started fucking you harder, gravelly moans spilling from his lips. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he whispered, his hands pressing you down into the bed. After a moment, he pulled out of you, spilling onto your chest. You watched as he squeezed his eyes shut, head tilted back, his mouth formed in an ‘o’. 

He grabbed your shirt off the ground and handed it to you, letting you clean yourself off. “Fuckin’ needed that,” he mumbled as he flopped down on the bed next to you. 

“Mhm, me too,” you agreed. And you did. You had just finished up final exam season and had been stressed out of your mind. “Are you staying?” you asked.

Van glanced at you, running his hand through his hair. “If that’s alright. Dead tired, dunno if I’d even make it home,” he said with a chuckle. You could tell he was exhausted, the circles under his eyes even darker than usual. 

“Yeah, of course,” you replied, rising out of bed to go to the bathroom. You went quickly and brushed your teeth. By the time you came back, Van was out cold, snores coming from his mouth. You laughed to yourself and slipped into bed next to him. 

In the morning things were a little slower, both of you less desperate for immediate release like last night. You took your time. Riding him slowly. Him shoving your head into the mattress, pulling your hair. Letting yourselves enjoy it a little more. 

You laid in bed as you watched him mill around, tugging his clothes back on, checking his phone. “Better get going. I’m heading to my parents later, so,” he said.

“Yeah, sure. That sounds fun.”

He nodded. “Mhm. Haven’t seen ‘em in a while so I’m excited.” He leaned down to kiss you quickly. “I’ll be home for a bit, so I’ll probably see you soon, then?”

“Yeah, sounds good. Bye, Van,” you said with a small smile which he returned. Then he was gone. 

It went on like this for a few weeks while Van was home, one of you calling the other and him coming to your place, sometimes spending the night, sometimes not. You would be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it. Usually when he came home, it was for a few nights at most. You rarely saw him this many times in such a short period of time and you were taking advantage of him being just a phone call away. 

Then he started to stick around a little longer after sex, cooking you breakfast, maybe watching a movie, making you laugh. At night, he wrapped his arms around you, fingers ghosting over your skin as you talked about everything, upcoming things for Catfish, your plans for after school. Every time he came over, he stayed longer, as if testing the boundaries. You didn’t ask any questions and he gave no explanation. 

But then the holidays were over. Van left for tour again, leaving you back alone in your apartment. The night before he had left, he stayed at your place. You both lied there awake for a long time, your head on his chest and his arm around you, stroking up and down your arm. When he left in the morning, he kissed you at the door a little longer than he usually would. 

When second semester began, you tried not to think about him, intending to focus all of your energy on your school work. But you missed him. You thought of the way his hands felt, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. 

You invited different guys to spend the night that you had seen previously but it didn’t feel the same. You texted back and forth occasionally, mostly just about his shows or your classes. But he was busy, each response taking a little longer than the last. You knew that it didn’t matter, that he’d be back eventually. You wondered if it would be the same. 

Van didn’t come back until their tour was over, nearly four months later. When his name flashed across your phone screen, your stomach dropped. 

“Hi, Van,” you said.

“Hi,” he replied, his voice even raspier than you remembered. “Are you busy?”

“No, not really, just watching a movie.” 

Van sighed into the phone. “Love, would you be able to come pick me up?”  
This surprised you. Since meeting him, you had never seen Van outside of that bar and then your place. You’d never even been to his house or out for a drink or anything. You liked keeping things confined to the walls of your apartment, like your own world. 

“Uh, yeah, of course. Where are you?” 

So you drove to the airport, turning the music up louder and trying to drown out your thoughts of what was to come. You pulled up to the curb, seeing him standing there, smoking a cigarette with his one small suitcase, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He peered into your window and smiled, dropping the cigarette on the ground before opening your back door and tossing his bags in. 

“Hey,” he said, settling into your passenger seat. 

“Hey,” you replied, pulling out of the parking lot. 

“Sorry about this, turns out mum and dad are out of town and then I tried to phone a few other people but I guess they’re all busy,” he said with a laugh. He fidgeted around, playing with your radio, rolling the window down. 

“No, it’s okay, I don’t mind. Um, where do you live again?” Van described it briefly, giving you directions along the way. 

He told you all about the tour, his hands waving around as he told different stories and funny things that had happened to him since he had been gone. He told you about his favorite cities he visited in the States, where the best audiences were. 

You drove for a while, not realizing that he lived quite a distance from the airport. When you finally arrived, you parked the car and waited for him to get out. He unbuckled his seatbelt, climbing out the front door and grabbing his things from the backseat. He opened the front door again and peeked his head in. “You coming in?” 

His house was nice but modest. It was messy and pretty apparent that whoever lived there wasn’t around much. Van tossed his stuff down on the ground, running his hands through his hair. “Mind if I have a shower?” You shook your head. “I’ll be back in a minute. Make yourself at home.”

You sat down on his couch, looking around at his things. He wasn’t one for decorations but he had a lot of records. His bookshelf was full of them, along with a vintage-looking record player. You ran your fingers across them, appreciating his music taste. You wondered how long it had taken for him to get this many. You heard a noise behind you and turned around to see Van in the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his waist “Tea?” he shouted to you. 

“Yeah, thanks.” You sat at one of the chairs in front of the island, leaning your arms onto it. You watched as he put the kettle on, grabbing a couple mugs, admiring the curve of his back. “Be right back.”

He came back slightly more clothed, in a pair of underwear and an old band t-shirt. He asked how you liked your tea and slid it in front of you, then turned to search through his cupboards. “Got no fuckin’ food,” he sighed. “I’m starving.”

You took a sip. “We should’ve stopped somewhere. I didn’t even think about it,” you replied, feeling a little bad for him. He was probably so jetlagged and of course he was hungry. 

He shrugged. “All good. I can go somewhere in the morning.” You both sipped on your tea, catching up a little more. Van told you about his plans for their next album already, already excited about some songs he had been working on. His face lit up when he talked about his band, his eyes glimmering. You could tell he just loved it, loved being on the road, the chaos of tour life, the feeling he got when he came up with a perfect lyric.

When he finally pressed inside of you, you could barely contain yourself. You had missed this feeling, the weight of him on top of you, how his lips formed your name. You had missed the cold feeling of his necklace tracing your skin, the way his hands felt around your throat, his thumb inside your mouth.

When you were finished, you laid your head on his chest, tracing your thumb across his skin. He smoked right there, his window cracked, trying to blow the smoke away from you. You thought about how lonely you had felt when he was gone, how good it felt to finally be able to touch him. And you thought about how much it was going to hurt when he had to leave again. 

“Van,” you whispered, closing your eyes. 

“Hm?” 

“I… can I say something?”

“Mhm, go ‘head.” You felt him shift and drop the butt of the cigarette into an old cup he kept on his nightstand. He settled back in, moving your hair off your shoulder, tightening his grip around you. 

“I know that what we have is good. No strings attached, that kind of thing. But Van, I’d be lying if I said I don’t have feelings for you. I started to realize it when you came back around Christmas, and then fully figured it out after you left. I missed you so much while you were gone. And I… I know you have a lot going on, but I like you. I really like you, I like spending time with you, more than anyone else.”

You felt Van tense up a little. He sighed softly as you pulled away slightly to look up at him finally. He ran a hand down his face, closing his eyes. “Love, I’m sorry. I don’t know if I gave you the wrong impression or somethin’ but… I can’t. I don’t really do relationships anymore. They never work, me being gone all the time. It’s too hard and we both end up hurt. Just doesn’t work,” he said softly. 

You nodded, pulling your lip in between your teeth. “Yeah, I understand,” you said, trying not to let your voice shake. “Yeah, it wouldn’t make a lot of sense, anyway. We both have a lot of stuff going on.”

Van’s eyes scanned your face, knowing you were disappointed but not knowing how to fix it like he usually could. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I like what we have, though. And it’s not that I don’t like being with you, I do. But, y’know, just not really in that way, I s’pose.” A tear fell down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away, more threatening to follow. 

“Yeah, Van, I get it.” You pulled away from him and reached for your underwear on the floor, slipping them on along with your shirt. You stood up, looking for your pants. 

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’m gonna go home,” you mumbled, tying the knot on your sweatpants. You looked down at him in his bed, seeing how small he looked, how young. 

“Don’t be silly, it’s nearly three in the morning.” 

You shook your head, digging through the blankets to find your phone. “I can’t stay here, Van,” you whispered. So you left. You walked to your car, tears streaming down your face, hoping that maybe he’d run out of his house after you, explaining that he did feel the same and he wanted to try with you. But he didn’t. As you drove home, you hoped maybe he’d call you, begging you to turn around and come back to him. But he didn’t. 

So that was it. Over the next few weeks, he texted you a few times, always at night, asking what you were up to, occasionally calling you. But you never answered. For a while, you looked at pictures of him posted online, keeping up to date with what he was doing, what the band was up to, projections for their next album. You listened to his voice every night, replaying his songs over and over. Until eventually, you stopped searching his name. You unfollowed the Catfish accounts on social media, deleted their songs from your phone, trying to forget him. To forget the way he whispered in your ear, the way his eyes grew wide when he told a story, the way his skin felt on yours. 

And it worked. You started seeing someone from your English class. Sam was nice and things with him were easy. He took you out to dinner and pulled your chair out for you, kissed you on the cheek after your first date. He called you the next day, already wanting to make more plans. He made you laugh and he always called you or texted you when he said he would. You were busy with exams but you saw him when you could. You went out with his friends and he met some of yours. 

“What are you up to, babe?” Sam asked over the phone. You were finishing up a paper that you had spent hours on. It was nearly midnight and your eyes burned from staring at the screen. 

“I just turned in my Lit paper, finally. But I think I’m gonna go to bed,” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. 

“Okay, sounds good. Love you,” he said. 

“Mhm, goodnight.” He had told you he loved you a few days earlier but you the words got caught in your mouth when you tried to say them back. He was a little hurt of course, but you just told him that you’d never said it to anyone before and that it might take you some time to be able to say it back. He was understanding about it, like he was with everything. 

You shut your eyes and leaned your head back in your desk chair, reaching your arms up and stretching. You jumped a little when your phone started buzzing. You answered it without looking, figuring it was Sam calling back about something. 

“Hello?” you said. You heard some shuffling over the phone and what sounded like breathing. You furrowed your eyebrows. “Hellooo?”

“Love.” His voice came through your speakers softly, wrapping around your body, making you nearly drop your phone. 

“Van?”

It was really loud on his end, like he was around a lot of people. You heard some more shuffling and then it was quieter. He sighed into the phone. “Hi,” he muttered. “Love, I - fuck,” he said, and it sounded like he dropped his phone. “Oops, sorry. Slipped right out my hand.” His words were slurring together, his voice a little deeper than normal. 

“Are you drunk?” you asked quietly. 

“Uh, mhm. Reckon I am. Too fuckin’ drunk, can’t even light my cigarette.” You could faintly hear the flick of his lighter. You knew you should just hang up, leave it alone. He was drunk and probably out at a pub with tons of people with no reason to be calling you. But for some reason, he had clicked on your name. “Christ, I am fuckin’ drunk but I’m sorry. I’m sorry I fucked everything up with us. Been missing you so much, can’t believe how I fucked it up. _God _, I miss your body,” he mumbled into the phone.__

____

____

Your head was spinning. You knew you needed to hang up, now. But you just couldn’t. “Really?” you whispered. 

Van sighed. “‘Course. Wish I was with you right now, but I’m stuck in fucking Leeds with some fucking girl who looks kinda like you, but not enough. She’s not gonna fuck me like you,” he breathed into the phone. “They never do.” He sounded almost sad now, his voice a little quieter. 

“Van… I have a boyfriend now,” you said after a moment. He didn’t say anything so you kept talking. “We’ve been together for a few months. I’m sorry but-”

He cut you off, “I know, I fucking know. Spend every night looking at your pictures with him. Spend every night wishing it was me,” he said, his voice cracking. 

You stood up, pacing around your bedroom. “You know, I gave you your fucking chance, Van. I told you exactly how I felt and you told me you didn’t feel the same, didn’t even give me a chance. And I was finally getting over you and then you fucking call me out of the blue like this, drunk and telling me you miss me?” Your voice grew louder, nearly shouting. 

“I know, love. I fucked up,” he murmured. You heard his lighter flick again. “Fuck,” he breathed out. “Just need to see you. Wanna feel you.”

You shook your head, scoffing. “You’re full of shit. You don’t speak to me for months, only texting me when it’s late and you want sex, then you call me up only when you’re shitfaced because you want sex again. You can’t play with people like this, Van. It’s fucked up and it hurts, don’t you get that? I don’t want to fucking see you,” you said, your voice shaking. 

Van exhaled. “I’m sorry I-”

You hung up, throwing your phone. Your eyes burned and tears threatened to spill and you let them, curling up in a ball on your bed. You sobbed for a long time, letting every emotion this stupid man had made you feel out, until you were out of tears. 

In the morning, you woke up with a headache and your throat hurting. You looked in the mirror and nearly jumped back at how puffy your eyes were. You splashed some water on your face and tried to push any thoughts of Van out of your head. 

You did your best to avoid thinking about him pretty much all day. You didn’t think about him as you ran errands. You didn’t think about him when a friend called, begging you to go out with them for someone’s birthday in a few days. And you didn’t think about him when you knocked on Sam’s door.

“Oh, hey,” he said, giving you a smile which you couldn’t return. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were coming over,” he walked inside, expecting you to follow him. You hovered by the doorway, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Sam,” you started. He looked back at you, confused, before walking back towards you. 

“What’s up?” he asked, leaning against the door frame. 

You sighed. “I can’t do this,” you whispered. “It’s not fair to you. I just think that I’m not really ready for this with you. I just… I don’t know if I can get to where you are, you know?”

He understood. He was upset of course, begging you to try changing your mind. But your mind was made up. You hugged him goodbye and left, knowing you’d never see him again. 

A few days later, you woke up, remembering it was your friend’s birthday. You debated canceling but realized maybe it would actually be good for you. You got ready for the night, excited to go out for a change, excited to dress up a little. You hadn’t seen your friends in a while and thought some alcohol might be the cure for how you had been feeling. 

You met up with your friends at your favorite spot, immediately ordering a double and a tequila shot. “Woah, you okay?” your friend asked jokingly. You just laughed. You had a few more drinks and you danced, letting loose for the night. Thoughts tried to creep into your head but you drowned them out with more alcohol. You laughed with your friends, catching up with them. You told them about your breakup and they offered to comfort you, but you brushed it off, not wanting to deal with it. You talked about your plans for the future, how you were excited about a job interview you had coming up for after graduation. You all sang happy birthday, snapping pictures throughout the night, dancing some more. You felt really good for the first time in a while. 

By the time you climbed into a cab, you were fairly drunk. You told the driver your address with a little giggle. You checked your purse to make sure you had your phone and keys, knowing that you tended to lose one or the other when you had a bit too much to drink. 

You thanked the driver and tipped him probably a bit too much. You fumbled with your keys, trying to get your hands to listen to your brain as you tried to unlock the door. You finally climbed the stairs, singing this song under your breath that you’d had stuck in your head for weeks but you couldn’t remember what it was, and then you saw him. 

He was leaning against your door, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket, tapping his foot. You squinted, trying to figure out if you were imagining things. He turned his head and saw you, his mouth dropping open. 

“Van?” you said, confused. “What are you doing here?” 

He licked his lips, looking at the ground and then looking back at you. “I know, I shouldn’t have just come here unannounced, ‘m sorry. But I had to see you,” he said, his eyes wide. 

You rolled your eyes, pushing him out of the way so you could unlock your door. You walked inside, slipping your heels off and heard him close the door behind you. You walked into the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of vodka from your cabinet. You figured you’d need it. 

Van followed you in the kitchen, watching as you made a drink. “Where were ya?” he asked quietly. 

You took a sip, then added a little more vodka for good measure. “It was my friend’s birthday, we were at Kelly’s.” You walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa, making yourself comfortable. 

Van followed you there too, standing awkwardly. You took a long drink before setting your cup down on the coffee table and staring at him. “Why are you here?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

He cleared his throat, sitting down next to you. He looked at you, his eyes tired, his hair an absolute mess. “Look,” he started, “I made a mistake. When you told me how you felt, I shot it down right away because I was scared. I’ve been with a lot of different girls in the past and I know how it turns out. Things start real good and all but after a while, it gets so hard when I’m gone for so long-”

“Yeah, and someone always gets hurt, I know. Thanks for telling me this again, Van,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. 

Van grabbed your hand, licking his lips. “The thing is, none of those girls were you.” You looked up at him, mouth open a little. He reached his hand up, tucking a piece of your hair behind your year. “None of them drove me crazy like you do. None of them made me laugh like you do,” his voice was so quiet, like he was scared to even speak. “They didn’t dance around the kitchen while they cooked breakfast like you. Or tell awful jokes like you. Or leave post-it notes around their apartment of things that make them happy, so they could like at them when they were feeling sad, the way you do. None of the girls I’ve been with insisted on sleeping with the windows open, even when it’s freezing out. They didn’t organize their records alphabetically and by color or hum my songs when they think I’m not listening and their hands didn’t fucking burn my skin when they touched me like yours do,” he said softly. Tears streamed silently down your face, Van’s hand holding your jaw gently. 

“I know I fucked this up, and I made you feel like shit,” he said. “I don’t give a shit about what I said, about things being too hard. I don’t care. I want to be with you, I don’t fuckin’ care if it gets messy or maybe it doesn’t work out. I want you,” he finished, wiping away your tears. 

No combination of words in the English language could describe what you were feeling. So you leaned forward and kissed him hard, letting your body speak for you. He sighed into the kiss, pulling you onto his lap. You had nearly forgotten how his tongue tasted, like mint and smoke, same as always. You kissed him as tears continued to fall down your face, and you tasted them against his lips but you didn’t care. He picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist and he carried you into your bedroom, setting you down on the bed gently. 

He hovered above you, unzipping your dress carefully and sliding it off of you, then tugged your underwear off, too. You were totally naked, so vulnerable at that moment but you didn’t care. He dragged his lips across your neck, working his way down your body, wrapping his mouth around your breasts for a moment. He kissed down your stomach, his hands feeling every curve of your body, feeling the way you shook just from his touch. 

“I love you,” he mumbled against your skin. “I fucking love you.” 

When you slid down onto him, Van sighed, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around your waist. He buried his head in your neck, breathing you in, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “I love you. Only you,” he rasped, kissing your neck softly. You rode him slowly, wanting this moment to last forever, never wanting to forget how he felt against you, the way he made you tilt your head back, moaning his name. You knew at this moment you’d never be with anyone else. No one would ever be able to make you feel the way he did, the way he could make you laugh so hard you spit out your drink or the way he could make you shake from his touch. 

“I love you, Van,” you whispered back. “So fucking much.”

You knew that maybe it was a bad idea and it was going to be hard, just like Van said. You knew that he would have to leave again, go back on the road, where he belonged. And you knew that you’d get hurt eventually because that’s what happened in life - there was no way around it.

But you didn’t care because Van was it for you. This man with his stupid crooked smile and childish sense of humor and habit of drinking too much. You didn’t care about any of it besides the most simple thing. The reason that people get out of bed every day, the thing you grow up believing is fake after your parents divorce, what you read about in books but never can _really_ be sure of until it happens to you. You loved him. You loved Van for everything he was and everything he wasn’t - and that was all that mattered.


End file.
